


Share the Crown (It's Lighter That Way)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Bellarke, F/M, Princess - Freeform, angsty fluff, canonverse, development bless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: The term princess did not begin as a form of endearment towards Clarke. In fact, Bellamy first used it as an insult, a way to mock her back when the greatest thrill he got was fighting her. But she grew – they both did – and the name died almost as quickly as it started. Bellamy hadn’t used it in months on end, hadn’t even thought it in nearly as long.Then he said it.-Or: Bellamy keeps calling Clarke princess, and they grow even closer along the way





	

**Author's Note:**

> *justin timberlake voice* i'm bringing princess baaaaaaack
> 
> (Tbh this became an excuse to throw in all my favorite headcanons I hadn't written yet/recently, but who's gonna stop me)

The term _princess_ did not begin as a form of endearment towards Clarke. In fact, Bellamy first used it as an insult, a way to mock her back when the greatest thrill he got was fighting her. But she grew – they both did – and the name died almost as quickly as it started. Bellamy hadn’t used it in months on end, hadn’t even thought it in nearly as long.

Then he said it. He asked Clarke – now his partner, his best friend – what was coming next, and he called her princess, without even realizing it. She gave him a look when he did, and he caught the slightest smirk when she replied, but otherwise she didn’t comment on it, then or after. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Which it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t, it was just a word, just a nickname. Just a memory, of a burning bridge and Clarke’s wide eyes meeting his; just the realization of how much they had grown, and how different those two syllables felt on his tongue now than they had then. She was no longer the privileged princess who took charge over a world she didn’t know. She had become a queen in waiting, determined to protect her kingdom with every ounce of energy left in her body.

And he loved her.

 

How they managed to lose Jaha within five minutes of stopping the rover, Bellamy couldn’t say. He also couldn’t say, however, that he minded. Even with the increased proximity he and Clarke had been granted as of late, Bellamy had missed her; missed just being with her.

They deigned to wait a little while before looking before Jaha, since the rover was the safest guard they had until they reached home and searching for the old man would require going on foot. Together they sat on the hood of the rover (Bellamy still with his gun, just in case), looking at the trees in the dying light and the almost purplish glow they created. It was quiet—oddly so.

“You hear that?” Bellamy said, sitting up straighter and pretending not to notice when his fingers brushed over Clarke’s. “No insects.”

Clarke straightened, too. “Odd.” Then something out of Bellamy’s vision caught her eye, and she hopped off the rover, heading into a thick grove.

He followed her close behind, worry growing in his stomach until he realized she was just looking at a patch of glowing moss—no, not moss, he realized. Butterflies. A cluster of them, all illuminated bright purple, fluttering their wings uncertainly as Clarke reached out a finger to touch them.

“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, watching with unconcealed awe as one crawled onto her finger and then fluttered off a few moments later.

Bellamy glanced at her before reaching out his own hand; a butterfly settled itself on his palm, nearly weightless. “Yeah, they are.” Then he swallowed and pushed lightly at her shoulder. “Now come on, princess. There’s work to do.”

She gave him an odd look, then nodded. “Let’s go save the world.”

 

Bellamy was never good at being separated from Clarke, not when his memories away from her were filled with mistakes and heartbreak and terror. So when the mission to Ice Nation was tasked, and he realized he would surely need to go, the knowledge was like a fist tightening around his chest. He knew he would likely die in the next six months, but the idea of dying away from Clarke, while she waited for him…he couldn’t even bear the thought.

But she would be home, as safe as one could be when the world was ending, so that was something.

When the goodbyes came, they left each other for last; everyone else was already piling into rovers or back into the hall when they met at the center of the room. For a few moments they just looked at each other, and then Bellamy cleared his throat and said, “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be careful,” Clarke replied; he could hear her voice waver, just a little, but she steadied it just as quickly. “You heard what Raven said.”

“Hydrazine, don’t blow it up, in and out. Got it.”

“And please don’t do anything stupid if you can help it,” she added, stepping closer despite the minimal space between them. “I know it’s not in your nature, to be cautious, but…I’d like to keep you alive, too.”

Bellamy looked over her face for a moment, feeling warmth leaking into his chest, and smiled for just a moment. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” she said firmly; then, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll be okay.”

“Yes, I will,” he said, mostly just to reassure her; she didn’t sound very certain. “Like I said—back before you know it.”

Clarke opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to reconsider. “They’re waiting.”

Glancing behind him, Bellamy could see the rest of the team was indeed waiting for him. His heart tightened at the sight, and he forced himself to look back at Clarke. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but she still sounded so unsure, so scared; it made Bellamy’s heart break. Softening, he pulled her to him and ran a hand over her hair; she wrapped her arms around his back, her head buried in his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a moment, trying to pretend this was a moment of comfort rather than a goodbye, then pulled away and met eyes one last time.

“Stay safe for me, princess,” he said, almost a whisper as he backed away.

“I will,” she replied, just an echo. “Stay safe for me, too.”

 

For the most part, he did as he asked, and when they got back to Arkadia he was rewarded with a hug that sent him staggering back a few steps before he found his balance. Clarke smelled like leather and woods and medicine, and her new short hair was soft when his fingers tangled in it.

Oh, he had missed her.

After that came, surprisingly, a couple days of quiet—not because nothing was happening, but because nothing was happening that Bellamy and Clarke could do at the moment. They spent it inseparably, just sitting on the floor of his room and talking, or reading, or playing cards. Just being together, like they were meant to be.

Mostly they talked of happy things, because they had enough talk of war and destruction in meetings; but they also talked about sad things—Lexa, and Gina. Friends they’d never had. Things they wouldn’t get to do, or shouldn’t have done. Bellamy confided the sick, hollow feeling he’d felt in his stomach ever since Octavia’s fist first connected with his skin; Clarke described the long nights without sleep or comfort from her nightmares.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough, Bellamy,” Clarke whispered one night, long after most had gone to bed, her head tucked against his shoulder. “I’m trying so hard, but….”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he replied amidst the growing ache in his heart. “You’re enough already. You’re enough to me.”

There was no sound for a long time, save for their breathing and Clarke’s fingers fumbling for his. “Thank you,” she whispered at last.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured. Then, after a pause, “I’m proud of you, princess.”

Against his shoulder, he could feel her smile. “Together, right?”

He squeezed her hand and laid his free one over their entwined fingers. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “Together.”

 

Six months later, despite it all, they were alive.

It had been six months of work, full of pain and sacrifice and death, and through it all there was not a moment left to themselves, but they survived, and now—now Bellamy and Clarke could have all the moments they wanted, because they’d made it. They’d actually made it.

One of the first of these moments came a few weeks after they’d settled into the safe zone, when they could truly rest for the first time. Clarke had pulled Bellamy out of bed in the middle of the night and dragged him to a hill to watch their first peaceful sunrise, and now they were sitting on the slope and staring in awe at the array of colors filling the sky. Or Clarke was, at least. Bellamy was mostly looking at her—the slope of her face, more defined than it had been in Arkadia; the way her hair, long and soft again, fell over her shoulders; the never-changing brightness of her blue eyes. Even with all the places they’d seen, all the corners of earth they’d traversed, she was still the most beautiful part of it all.

Gradually, Clarke had ended up tucked into his side, like she always did. She fit beside him perfectly, every line and crack and bruise pressed together; after all this time, he could no longer find where he ended and she began. A life without her was not only unimaginable but impossible—there was not a world, not a universe in existence, where Bellamy existed properly without Clarke by his side.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of sunsets,” Clarke murmured, the words rumbling against his collarbone.

“Good thing,” Bellamy said, “because they’ll keep coming whether you will or not.”

“As long as they keep coming, I’ll never be tired of them,” she said softly.

He knew what she meant. As long as they had a chance to keep going, they weren’t giving up. They would never be tired of living.

“Might get tired of me first,” he teased lightly, squeezing her side.

“Oh, never,” she said stoutly, and though she said it in a teasing manner, he could find no trace of humor in her voice. Before he could sort through this, however, she lifted her head to meet his eyes and he realized they were mere inches away; the unexpected intimacy threw him for a moment, and he said nothing.

“I’ll never get tired of you,” she repeated, watching him carefully. “And I mean it, especially now. I’ll never not want you around.”

Bellamy didn’t know what to say – after all this time, hearing that she cared about him still felt like the world being lifted off his shoulders – so he just looked back at her. Their gazes met for a few moments too long, and then Clarke lifted her hand to his face and brushed curls away from his face, as soft as the sun rising above the distant horizon.

“Princess….” he murmured wearily, falling on the now-common nickname in his moment of bewildered awe. “What are you doing?”

Clarke ignored him for a moment; her hand had at some point anchored itself against his cheek and now her thumb ran back and forth across his skin. They were so close, Bellamy could nearly taste the breath she released before she spoke, low and soft and steady. “Call me Clarke.”

And then, before Bellamy had a moment to process that, her lips were against his, soft and insistent yet curious; a question, one that he answered with every ounce of the knowledge he had, every crack of his heart that beat for her alone. He kissed her, with the sun rising behind them and his hands pulling her closer and her fingers sliding back into his hair. He kissed her, gentle and firm and searching, until the soft ache in his heart covered his body with warmth he’d never known so fully before, and then he rested his forehead against hers and breathed in slowly.

There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he’d wanted to tell her for so long, but none of them reached his lips. All he could manage was, “Clarke….”

She smiled up at him, warm and comfortable, and brushed her hand over his cheek briefly. “There you go.”

He smiled, too, and the words finally came. “I love you.”

Beneath his touch, he felt her shiver, or perhaps hold back a sob. “I love you, too, Bellamy,” she whispered, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

Bellamy breathed out and sunk against her, his nose sliding across her cheek before settling against her collarbone, arms tight around her waist. Clarke’s hand ran over his hair in slow, soothing motions; faintly, he could hear her heartbeat, in nearly perfect rhythm with his own. It was a firm drumbeat, insistent and powerful, yet calm. Peaceful.

The idea that he gave that to her, made her heart fill with the one thing the Earth never gave them, made Bellamy smile.

When they finally went back inside, fingers entwined and hearts tucked together, they were immediately pounded with questions about if they were officially together, and when they had finally figured it out, and why they had waited so long. Bellamy just smiled and pulled Clarke a little closer each time they were interrogated, because honestly, they’d always known. He’d always known he was hers, and she was his, and they were meant to stay together. It had just taken the end of the world, and a quiet sunrise after it, for him to realize that meant forever.

**Author's Note:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr :)
> 
> ALSO there will be a bonus scene probably


End file.
